- Brothers Lake: A little lake with a big heart.
Prelude:
Prior to hitting the backcountry, my wife, my nine year old daughter, and I spent a few days camping near Buck Rock, chasing swimming holes, and walking among the sequoias. After getting acclimated to the altitude, it was time to go in search of Brothers Lake.
A pretty obscure place, I’d spent countless hours over the years staring at the Roaring River Country/Jennie Lakes section of the Nat Geo SEKI map, and it only took me about ten years to become aware of the existence of Brothers Lake at the head of Gannon Creek. Due to my color blindness, I hadn’t noticed it buried beneath the blue, purple, and green lines that mark the boundaries between different federal lands and wilderness areas. But with its presence now known, it became a prime place to drag my family to. Off we go!
Day 1 (Marvin Pass TH to Brothers Lake)
We began our journey from the Marvin Pass Trailhead rather than Sunset Meadow for the sole purpose of saving 0.5 miles of walking, and 500 feet or so of elevation gain. My pack was ridiculously heavy because I thought it would be fun to pack a copious amount of beer.
Upon reaching Marvin Pass, the load had already been lightened. It was a good feeling, not only having a buzz, but knowing we’d done the most extensive uphill of our entire trip all in the first 0.8 miles.
From there it was an easy coast down to Rowell Meadow, and the junction with the Seville Lake trail. There wasn’t much of a view of the meadow from the junction, so I asked the fam if they wanted to detour about 100 yards out of our way to see it. “Nope,” they replied in unison, so we marched on.
In due time we reached the boundary of Jennie Lakes Wilderness and Kings Canyon, where we left the trail. Instead of paralleling a creek, or aiming for an obvious pass, we followed a string of barbed wire on the ground that I assume once kept livestock out of Kings Canyon. At one point we lost the wire for about five minutes, and when we found it again, my daughter was about ten times more excited than when we’d seen a bear a few days prior. Ah the glories of hiking off trail!
About thirty minutes after we’d left the trail, we reached the end of the wire at a small pond nestled up at the base of a peak. “This is undoubtedly the ugliest body of water I’ve ever seen in the Sierra,” I told my wife.
Stagnant, brown, mosquito-ridden, and probably not long for this world, the pond was not worth sticking around at, so we continued our ascent to Brothers Lake. Meanwhile, we could hear thunder off in the distance, see ominous clouds overhead, and even feel the occasional raindrop.
The wise Buddha once said, “It’s better to travel well than to arrive.” I believe the exact opposite when it comes to off-trail travel. I don’t care much if I choose a horrible route, so long as I get to my destination in one piece. But traveling with a small child and a significant other, every last micro route finding mistake is exacerbated by tears of sorrow, and angry glares.
I felt a tremendous amount of pressure to take a good line to the lake, and wasn’t really able to enjoy the breathtaking scenery en route. The fam didn’t enjoy it much either, but dammit, we got to Brothers Lake with no injuries and minimal tears shed, so I’ll chalk it up as a success.
The lake itself was fine, but nothing to write home about. Shallow and murky, it sits in a pretty grand cirque for such a tiny lake. We found a nice campsite on the northern shore, and wasted no time settling in and going for a dip in the relatively warm water.
- Something's amiss at Brothers Lake. This picture confused the hell out of my daughter.
Not long after swimming, my daughter and I discovered an old fur trap near our campsite. Given our location, I’m convinced it must’ve belonged to Sierra folk hero Shorty Lovelace. My daughter was less impressed, only wishing to explore, so we left the trap behind.
- I've had no luck finding Shorty Lovelace cabins on numerous trips, so I was pleasantly surprised to find this relic by complete accident.
Not bothering with shoes, the two of us scrambled up the granite on the lake’s eastern shore until reaching a promontory that my daughter, who has a thing for super literal names, dubbed “Astonishing Rocky Viewpoint”. We couldn’t believe just how astonishing the view was, both agreeing it was the most beautiful thing we’d ever seen. To the east we saw the heart of a thunderstorm, unleashing its wrath down on the ominous dark peaks of the wild beyond. To the west glorious rays of the fading sun were piercing the dark clouds, shining effervescent light on Rowell Meadow country, painting the lodgepole pines and red firs below in a sea of glowing orange.
My daughter and I were both in an absolute state of euphoria, contemplating how in that very moment you could fully and completely feel the Spirit of the Sierra. But then it dawned on us that it felt incomplete with the rock of our family back at camp reading a book, so we sprinted barefoot down the granite, and back into camp to grab her.
During the return, we started getting some legit rain, so as soon as we got back to camp, we threw up the rainfly, chucked everything in our tent, and covered the firewood. With time being of the essence, we still didn’t bother with shoes, and ran right back up to Astonishing Rocky Viewpoint. My wife was just as amazed with the glory of it all as we were, and wanting to soak in every view possible, we ran from rock to rock, until we got a particularly breathtaking view of Ball Dome, with the peaks in the vicinity of Table Mountain in the distance getting thrashed with rain.
It then began to pour on us while the western ranges were simultaneously getting bathed in the evening sun. We laughed, whooped it up, and took some pictures, before a hasty retreat to the tent ensued.
It seemed like we were going to be hunkered up for the evening in the coming storm, but it never materialized, and we didn’t get any more rain the rest of the night. Nonetheless, the ladies spent their remaining waking hours reading in the tent, while I explored views to the west, and nipped whiskey by the lake, a decision that wasn’t well-received by my wife.
Day 2 (Brothers Lake to Seville Lake)
- The view atop "Brothers Pass".
Our initial plan was to double back to the Seville Lake Trail and get to the namesake lake in that conventional manner. But that all changed after eyeing up the pass out of Brothers Lake into the Belle Canyon drainage. It looked eminently doable for all ages, and after pouring over the map, the descent to Seville looked like it would be reasonable enough.
Beginning up the pass, I was quickly replaced at the front of the line by my daughter, who insisted she could do a better job of guiding. Sure enough, she chose an impeccable line, and we made it up the pass while avoiding all talus and brush.
The country up there was absolutely stunning, with wide open views over Sugarloaf Valley and its signature domes. But my favorite features were rock outcrops on the pass that reminded me of a miniature Monument Valley.
- Atop "Brothers Pass". Fascinating country up there, with desert-like rock formations.
In theory, the best route down to Seville was via a gully that slightly overshot the lake to the south before cutting west. However, the views were so impressive that I insisted we stay up on the ridge just above the gully, and take it all in. Almost immediately the lip of Sheep Camp Lake II came into view, and not long after that we caught a glimpse of Seville Lake in all its glory.
It would be hotly debated later on, but I swear I heard my wife say Seville Lake was “hella close”, and I concurred. Against my better judgment, having looked over the map and terrain fairly religiously, I decided to completely abandon the gully route and bomb on down to the lake in an as the crow flies manner. “We should be there in no time,” I remarked.
Whoops. My ill-fated beeline to the lake featured a classic combination of steep ravines, decomposing granite, infinite brush, fallen logs, and boulder fields. About an hour later than expected, we finally made it to a meadow in which I spotted a couple of ducks atop boulders and logs. On my first ever backpacking trip many moons prior I’d gotten lost in that meadow, trying to follow a trail that was labeled on the pre-2012 Nat Geo map (not to mention the old 7.5 I was currently using), but only exists as a series of poorly placed ducks in real life.
I told the fam to make sure their boots were tight, and their adventurous spirit high, because we were going to have to trudge through that wet, mosquito-ridden meadow to get to the lake. They were super stoked. Anyhow, we made it through okay and spotted the lake shortly thereafter. We chose our camp on the lake’s eastern shore, and instantly lit a fire to ward off mosquitoes, which were fairly tame by Seville Lake standards.
- I'd like to retroactively apologize to anyone that tried to find firewood at Seville Lake in the Year of Our Lord 2022. We did a pretty extensive controlled burn in an effort to keep the bugs at bay.
After lounging around for some time and wading in the lake’s warm waters, I felt a strong urge to light out for nearby Sheep Camp Lake II, just about the only lake in that region I’ve never been to. Unfortunately my wife strictly forbade me from going as punishment for a combination of ditching the fam to drink whiskey the night before, and taking such a godawful, styleless line to Seville Lake.
Ah well, I was still able to get my kicks thanks to a five dollar, glittery golden K-mart innertube. The tube, fabulous in every way, has managed to make it on pretty much every family road trip. In the frontcountry alone, it had seen action at Viola Falls, Big Meadow Creek, and the Ranger Pool. Of all the superfluous items I’ve ever hauled into the backcountry (ungodly amounts of beer, a poncho blanket, a few pounds of bacon, etc.) it would prove to be the best one I’ve ever brought.
Putting in near our campsite with a beer in hand, I launched into the lake for a “booze cruise”. I basically just floated out into the exact center of the lake, and spun around in circles for an hour, digging the views of Kettle Peak and the country leading up towards JO Pass.
When my beer was done, I returned to shore to play Go Fish with my daughter, collect firewood, and basically just enjoy camplife. We did a pretty minimal amount of exploring, but just enough for my daughter to take a spill and get mad at me for forcing her to leave camp.
Like the day before, thunder and the occasional rain drop never truly subsided, but never amounted to much of anything either. We gambled by not bothering to put up the rainfly, and thankfully were given no reason to regret this decision.
Day 3 (Seville Lake to Carl’s Jr.)
This was strictly a return day, and was treated as such, beginning with a quick dip in the lake, and boots on trail at 7:00 AM. The wildflowers lining the Seville spur trail were radiant in the early morning light. I commented to the fam how beautiful it all looked, but was told that the day was strictly for getting back to the car as fast as possible, not for stopping and smelling the proverbial roses.
Fair enough. It’s flyover country out there anyway, the kind of place you rush through as fast as you can to get elsewhere. We did a pretty damn fine job of this. In no time at all we were back at Rowell Meadow, and once again no one wanted to bother going ever-so-slightly out of our way to see it.
So we pushed on, and at the crossing of Rowell Creek, which happened to be the only running water we encountered all trip, we saw our first fellow homo sapiens. Bummer. We were so close to pulling off a human-free trip!
The last 0.8 miles from Marvin Pass to our car felt inexplicably long. As per tradition, we always eat Carl’s Jr. and stay at a hotel with a pool in some Central Valley town after a backpacking trip, and everyone was very excited about this prospect. I’d venture to say the ladies were more excited about going to Viaslia than they’d been about heading up to SEKI a week prior. Go figure. Anyhow, we made it back to the car, and wasted no time in getting down to the sweltering hot valley.
An obscure lake, time spent with family, solitude, floating around in a glittery golden innertube, finding a Shorty Lovelace relic, distant thunder, what more could the heart of a man desire?
She'll not know what we're talkin about.
